I hear her sniffle, so I continue talking. “We played Russian Roulette with a toy gun in our old apartment one night when we both had horrible days at work, remember?” I try to say as much as I can to prove my point, to prevent her from hanging up. “You and Jake argued almost every day when you first started dating. You demanded more from him than any other woman had before. Even though I used to think that you two had the most toxic, up and down relationship ever, I told you that I couldn’t see you dating anyone else. It’s really me, Gillian,” I beg. “Please don’t hang up. Please help me…”
It’s too late.
She’s long gone.
My blood is boiling and although tears are pricking my eyes, I refuse to let them fall.
Crying won’t make any of this make sense.
Nothing is adding up when it comes to the man who calls himself my husband, and I doubt anything ever will. I’ve thought my final move through hundreds of times—weighed the pros and cons, and it’s time to end this one-sided game once and for all.
My husband has never been my partner. He’s the dealer of a twisted game, and he’s finally forcing me to play my best hand.
Slipping the phone into my pocket, I make my way upstairs to face him.
The moment I step into the living room, I clear my throat. “We need to talk. Now.”
“Of course,” he says. “But first, tell me something. How is Gillian?” He smiles. “Did you two have a nice chat?”
I freeze like a deer in headlights, my blood running cold at the shock of his words.
“I’m assuming she didn’t believe it was you who called…” He picks up his whiskey shot glass, tosses it back. “I wouldn’t take that personally. She’s been getting a lot of fake emails and spam calls lately. It’s a shame what some people on the internet will do for attention these days.”
“I’m calling the police now,” I say, pulling the cell phone out of my pocket. My finger hovers above the ‘start call’ icon. “I’m going to tell them everything.”
“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow, not looking rattled in the slightest. “What exactly do you plan on telling them?”
“That my husband kidnapped me and held me in captivity for no reason,” I say, stepping forward. “That he’s clearly involved in some twisted criminal activity, and I’m willing to bet that if they look closely enough, they’ll find a few more things.”
“They’ll find a lot more things.”
“I won’t visit you in prison,” I say, moving toward him, stopping right in front of the chess table. “But I will send you a wedding invitation when I find a man who isn’t full of shit and actually knows what the fuck it means to love someone.”
“You’ll never find another man who is willing to do half of what I’ve done for you, Meredith.” He looks at me. “You can bet millions on that, all fucking day long.”
“I’d bet my life on the opposite of that.”
“If only you knew how fucking ironic those words were….” He averts his gaze to my hand, where I was finally hitting the call icon—daring him to do something, but he remained still.
The phone’s line beeped a couple times, sounded with a few seconds of static, and then it rang.
For a moment, the two of us stare at each other—taking in the last frames of what I’m sure will be the end of us.
A buzzing sound cuts through the silence, and Michael lifts a couch pillow and picks up a different cell phone. Holding it up to his ear, he keeps his eyes on mine as the ringing on my line finally ends.
“9-1-1, emergency response,” he says, his lips curve into a smirk. “How may I help you?”
I drop the phone to the floor, instantly shattering the glass screen against the marble. I stare at him in utter disbelief, complete and utter horror.
“I figured I’d pretend like I didn’t notice when one of my cell phones was missing,” he says. “Like I didn’t know you had it and would probably call Gillian, so…” He shrugs. “I made it so that’s the only number you could reach, especially since I called a few times to make sure she wouldn’t believe it was you.”
I blink.
“You have to anticipate your opponent’s every move, Meredith,” he says. “Be ten steps ahead of him—or her, at all times. That’s why all of our chess games end the same. Your pattern is too damn predictable, and it translates into everything you do. You’re so deeply steeped in your fucking feelings, that you can’t consider any reasons why someone would risk everything for you. But now that we’re on the same page about who will always—”
“Checkmate.” I cut him off in the middle of his spiel, moving my bishop piece in front of his queen—cementing the block on all sides. She has nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
The game is fucking over.
Michael’s gaze falls to the board and he analyzes all the pieces, looking beyond stunned.
“I could’ve beat you the last eight times,” I say. “But I wanted to make sure I memorized your pattern first. It’s the same every time. Risky-ass moves here or there for shock value—to make me think you’re not afraid to lose, because you think it’s beneath you. For the record, you’re one of the most predictable fucking players I’ve ever shared the board with.”
His lips turn up into a small smile as he looks up at me, but he didn’t let it stay.
“Well done, Meredith.” He pushes the table to the side and closes the gap between us. “I’m impressed.”
“I’m a lot smarter than I look. Ten times smarter than you.”
“A little too far-fetched with the last claim,” he says, then he lets out a sigh. “Do you still trust me?”
“Hell no.”
He smiles. “Well, you’re going to have to, if you want me to tell you the truth about why you’re here.”
“Anything short of you saying, I’m having a psychotic break and will check into an asylum, won’t suffice.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he says, looking deeply into my eyes—forcing my heart to react against my will. The look in his eyes is genuine, and for a split second, he looks like the Michael who I fell for. The Michael who swore he would do anything to protect me.
“You can start talking at any time,” I whisper.
“Not here,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “We can have this conversation on the way there.”
“Where is there?”
“The next place we have to be,” he says. “It’s going to be a long drive and it’s going to take a few days. Would you like to come with me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not if you want answers,” he says. “Pack whatever you need by midnight.” He steps back and walks away.
Meredith
Now
I should’ve known better…
The moment we got into Michael’s car, he turned into a mute. He didn’t offer up any answers, didn’t address any of my questions. Instead, he drove me to a small airport hangar near the river, where a salt and pepper haired pilot flew us “closer to the west.”